


Playing Politics

by justfortune



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Drinking, Drunk Kisses, Dubious Consent, Enthusiastic Consent, Frottage, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:35:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23619112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justfortune/pseuds/justfortune
Summary: This is where I'm housing all my Valerius/Lucio smut. Proceed with caution.[Ch 1] - A Drunken Kiss[Ch 2] - Keeping Count
Relationships: Lucio/Valerius (The Arcana)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 43





	1. A Drunken Kiss

Three glasses.

After years of making himself known as a self-proclaimed sommelier and climbing way through Vesuvian politics, Valerius had learned his limits the hard way. Three glasses, and not a sip more.

This was top of mind when Lucio invited him to share a vintage blend on his balcony one fair summer evening. Lucio has been giving him constant signals over the past week — hungry glances, finding excuses to see him, the incessant compliments. Valerius knew what this was about. He had to keep his wits about him, lest he make a decision he would come to regret.

Still, he knew better than to deny an invitation from the Count. And so he now finds himself lounging in a chair, watching the sun set on the palace gardens with an empty wine glass in his hand.

Lucio plucks it from him. “You’ll love this, Val,” he says, pouring him a half glass, followed by one for himself. “I had it brought to the palace specifically with you in mind. It’s a ‘32, from the Pearl Isles.”

Valerius is contemplating how much he hated the little nickname Lucio had given him when his breath catches in his throat. “It’s... a ‘32?” Damn him. The Pearl Isles had given out it’s most potent fruit to date that year, it was hardly possible to find a bottle going for less than the contents of small town’s coffers, if at all.

Damn him indeed — Lucio is sporting that wicked smirk that shows that yes, he knows exactly what he’s doing luring him up with a Pearl Island ‘32. “It is,” he all but purrs, “and one of the last ones left unopened, so I hear. I thought we might celebrate.”

Valerius accepts the glass offered to him. He has no choice but to take the bait. “And what is it that we’re celebrating this evening, my Count?”

“New beginnings.” He winks.

_Clink._

Lucio takes a sip. Valerius is more careful, giving it a swirl and taking in its aroma. It’s dark, powerful. Aromas of dark red fruits and vanilla and oak assault his senses. He takes it away from his nose so he can half-cough the breath out through his nose. It’s just as powerful as he remembered. Not wanting to insult his host, he takes it to his lips and drinks.

Those same dark fruits carry through on the flavor, now complimented by dry floral notes and an underlying bite of... tobacco? Something smoky. He lowers his glass to look at the liquid.

Lucio hasn’t moved his gaze from Valerius’ face. “Well?” He presses, eager. “What do you think?”

“It’s masculine,” notes the counsul. “Aggressive, dark. It’s a good wine.”

It’s not good enough for the Count. “And?”

“And?” He echoes. “And it’s full-bodies. Has a very long finish.” Valerius quirks an eyebrow. “Are you not satisfied?”

Wrong question to ask. Lucio’s expression is positively impish as he leans over in his chair so Valerius gets a clear view through the open French doors into the bedroom — and the gaudy painting staring him down.

“Does it... remind you of anyone, Valerius?”

Valerius can’t believe what he’s hearing. Did the Count order one of the continents most sought-after wines so he could fish for a compliment? The more Valerius thinks on it, the more he realizes that yes, that is absolutely something the Count would do.

He sighs. He’s smart enough not to provoke his anger. “Is it you, Lucio?”

The Count grins and flips blond locks back with a flick of his head. “Me, Val? What makes you say that?”

Oh, here we go.

“You’re wearing red.” It’s as dry as the libation in his glass; he gets a sick sort of pleasure watching Lucio’s face contort in offense.

“Come now! Surely there must be other things that bring up my image.”

Knowing he’d need it to put up with a whole evening of this, Valerius takes a deep pull from the glass.

The rest of the evening progresses just as you would expect it: Valerius bored, and Lucio waxing poetic about himself. Valerius sticks to his three glass maximum. Lucio does not.

The sun is a distant memory by the time the second bottle reaches its dregs.

Valerius is feeling himself reach his dregs, too. He yawns. “Count Lucio, this has been wonderful. Really, it has. But I must be going back to my chambers now, before someone gets the wrong idea.”

“Wrong idea? Can the Count of Vesuvia not share wine and a pleasant evening with his counsul without people getting ideas?” He sneers, waving his wine glass about in the air.

This is going to be more difficult than he thought. “I’m exhausted. Please dismiss me so I can go to bed.” He rises.

Lucio makes an exaggerated glance towards the bed in his chamber, then back at Valerius with a crooked eyebrow.

Valerius rolls his eyes. But as he goes to walk out the door, there’s a firm golden hand gripping his bicep. It’s his turn to lift an eyebrow. “Lucio—“ He’s cut off. Drunken lips are crashing into his mouth. And so is the rest of Lucio; he finds he has to kiss back, at least a bit, to keep the man upright a he moves to hold him in his arms.

“I’ve been wanting to do that all evening,” he slurs.

The wino — though he seems to have lost that title to another tonight — sighs as he leads his leader to bed. “I noticed.” Lucio doesn’t protest when he’s laid out shoes and all on top of his red silk sheets.

Valerius is at the door by the time Lucio musters a response. “Val?”

He pauses “yes?”

“Let’s do this again sometime.”

The threat of a smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Alright — but I get to bring the wine.”


	2. Keeping Count

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valerius visits Lucio in his sickbed.

Laid up in his bed, the Count of Vesuvia could hardly recognize the guest standing in the doorway for his disheveled countenance. His usually tight-knit braid was a disaster of flyaways; healthy cheeks were drawn gaunt with stress; scathing, searching eyes were left tired, turned down at their corners. No, there was hardly anything left of his sardonic Consul -- it was the telltale wine glass in hand that gave him away. 

“Valerius.”

The Count’s eyes were sunken in. Capillaries glowed an angry red through translucent skin under his eyes, on his hands, around his lips. Even his golden arm was veined with crimson. The Consul found himself in the same predicament as his beloved Count, staring wide-eyed and blinking at a stranger he had once known so well. 

“Lucio.” 

Even his voice had changed. What could once freeze an inferno with its icy bite now hung weakly in the air, dissipating quickly in a quiet bedchamber. Seconds slipped past the two of them. He dared not move, dared not disturb the beast from his slumber. Was there nothing left to say between them? Valerius couldn’t break the silence. It wasn’t his place. No, he had done his duty in setting down the burden of running a wretched plague-wracked city to pay his wretched plague-wracked Count a visit. 

“It’s been weeks since you’ve come to see me. Months.” 

“You’re being dramatic. It’s been hardly twenty days… Twenty-one.” So he’d been counting. 

Anger resurgent shone in fiery red eyes. “And a hell of a twenty-one days it’s been! You don’t know what it’s like, rotting away like a piece of meat.” Though venom dripped from the accusation, Valerius could hardly feel its sting. “I’m aware of it. Every second. It ticks, ticks, ticks, _ticks_ past. No respite. Still no person to come visit me while I’m sat up with nothing to do, no one to talk to but that stupid fucking _portrait_.” 

The Consul didn’t spare a glance towards the garish painting. Too many times it had stared him down while he made love to its subject, deigning to offer its cocky gaze while he spilled loving whispers into Lucio’s ear. “You love that portrait.” 

Exhausted by his outburst, Lucio threw his head back against the pillows. “ _Pah!_ ” 

Valerius squinted; it was all he could manage of a smile. This wasn’t going anywhere. “I had something made for you.” That, at least, seemed to get his attention -- not that the proud Count would see fit to show interest. Valerius advanced upon the bed, hiking one leg up to sit by his object of ci-devant desire, now pity. He set his merlot on the nightstand and paper parcel on Lucio’s chest. “Close your eyes.” 

“You’re mad,” he barked. 

Maybe a spark of his lover raged still inside that broken husk of a body. “Close your eyes, Lucio. You’ll like this gift.” 

Lucio lifted an eyebrow… but the prospect of a present drove his eyes closed, albeit with a petulant huff. 

Valerius fiddled with the parchment in his hands; Lucio was acutely aware of the sound of smooth textile sliding out of it. He felt its cool silk wrap around the top half of his face. Valerius’ strong hands (and God, did they feel strong) lifted his head and secured a knot behind his hair. 

“What is this?” 

“Silk.” 

“I know it’s silk, you sentient mop. Tell me what my gift is!” 

Valerius had risen to work on removing his shoes. “Be patient.” Next came the golden ram’s head pin laid to rest aside the wine glass, followed by his sash and buttoned tunic. 

“Be patient! That’s rich, coming from you. I’ve been patient for nearly a year, waiting for my stupid doctors to come up with a stupid cure.” 

“Patient?” Valerius replied. “You fed your top doctors plague beetles to speed up your cure; I’d hardly call that patience.” His tone was sympathetic despite the accusation it conveyed. 

“Oh, and look at you -- Valerius, paragon of virtue, paying tribute to your sick. They’ll write songs about your decency when you’re their Count.” 

In all his crassness, Lucio had a point. Valerius was far from personified patience -- his very visit to the Count that day was a testament to it. No, wine and impatience were his vices of choice. He would have Vesuvia for his own, even if he had to do the plague’s job to get it. 

He was thankful that his superior couldn’t see him vulnerable in his underdress. Gingerly, not to disturb him, he climbed over Lucio and joined him under the blankets. Lucio turned over and reached out to poke four lost fingers into his armpit, then feel their way to his bicep. 

Valerius maneuvered the golden arm beneath him, which in turn curled around to hug him close. 

It was easy to look at him like this, eyes masked and lips curled into a grin of anticipation. Valerius caressed the side of his face. Lucio let out a sigh. Encouraged, the courtier trailed his fingertips down scruffy, hollowed cheeks to his jaw, then back behind his head to massage his scalp. 

“Why are you here?” Gone was the malice from his voice. 

Valerius considered it. “I’m tired,” he admitted. Slowly he approached Lucio’s lips, warning him with a breath of what was to come. He captured them in a slow, stagnant kiss before leaning back. He caught the hint of a smile. “Truly, it’s my comrades that drove me here. They’re driving me mad. I have your wife on one hand, prattling on about shielding the poor from this cursed plague; and your courtiers on the other. Really, Lucio, I have no idea what drove you to hire them. Each and every one of them seems hell-bent on making the plague spread faster -- except that Vlastomil. All he cares about are his worms.” He shivered. 

That damned smile spread wider. “I warned you.” Another quick kiss, this time initiated by the Count and landing on his chin. “You lusted for power, and found her a vile mistress.” 

“She can be tamed.” The words, though simple, held the weight of malice. 

That drew a laugh. “Yes, you’ll make a proper Count. You’re willing to do what it takes.” 

Yes. That was precisely what he was putting in motion as they laid out, wrapped up in each others’ arms. His next kiss was tender; he even let his own eyelids shut. Lucio tried pulling him closer, but found that his strength failed him. Valerius finished the task. 

Chests pressed flush together, the courtier got an intimate feel of how sick his once-sturdy leader truly was. Ribs pressed into his chest, and when he trailed his hand down his back, he felt each knob of his spine with distinction. Lucio nipped at his lip. 

“Minx.” 

“ _You love it._ ” 

...Yeah, he did. Valerius’ lips turned up in a smirk as he dove in to kiss him again. 

Lucio was delighted. He had often been the one to take the lead. With that possibility gone, a bit of bratty behavior was all he could muster to counter his counsel's assault on his ego. Most of that delight came from the fact that until this very minute, he had been starved for any sort of affection. Valerius figured the closest he’d gotten to action in weeks was his daily walk over to the chez-lounge to lay while servants changed his bedsheets. The bastard still wouldn’t let them change his nightgown -- although on his current trajectory, it might be necessary in a month’s time. 

Of course, he didn’t know this first hand. All of his knowledge of Lucio’s state came from the updates he demanded of his caretakers. No, he couldn’t stomach coming in and seeing his stallion reduced to a pile of skin, bones, and festering bedsores. 

The silk helped. 

His kisses were deep, slow. At least Lucio seemed to be finding his energy as he met each kiss with enthusiasm. It had never been particularly difficult to pull noises out of Lucio; now desperate groans poured from his core. A touch to his hip earned him a gasp, an arm snaking around his waist warranted a wanton moan and an assault of untrimmed nails digging into his shoulder. But all that was nothing compared to his reward for whispering _Lucio_ into his lips. For that, he got a _Fuck yes, Valerius, touch me._

It became increasingly obvious what he wanted. His desire thrust shamelessly into Valerius’ hip in a slow rhythm. Valerius gave a dark chuckle. It would seem as though the weeks of waiting had taken up every last ounce of Lucio’s patience, and he wasn’t going to wait any longer. 

“Did you come all the way down here just to be a cocktease?” Lucio growled the challenge into his lover’s mouth. 

Valerius surprised him, blind as he was, by rolling to straddle him on hands and elbows above. He kept the full force of his weight from pushing down for fear that he’d crush the brittle skeleton beneath him. Lucio’s breath hitched. “No,” said the courtier, “I came here to make you cum.” His hips rolled down; their erections rubbed together through their underclothes. They moaned in unison. 

Surely Lucio had some bright quip to that. Unfortunately for the silver-tongued Count, it got caught somewhere in his throat and came out as a rather undignified: “You’re -- _haa--_ ,” which was exactly the reaction Valerius wanted. His hips canted down in a steady rhythm. The Consul buried his head in the crook of his neck to feel the sighs of pleasure vibrate in his throat. It didn’t take long for those sighs to turn to curses. And in those moments, Valerius could let himself forget all about the sickness, the plot. It was him and his Lucio using each other’s bodies to chase their mutual pleasure, just like in simpler times. 

And just like in simpler times, Valerius quickly grew tired of the teasing. His own linens were easy to hike up. Lucio’s took a bit of fumbling, but as soon as the pesky fabrics were bunched up around their waists, his hand took both of their lengths and gave them a painfully slow stroke. Valerius relished the feeling of silky skin, firm and virulent. At least there was one thing the plague hadn’t taken away. 

Lucio was downright lazy, putting flesh and gold hand above his head and letting his partner do all the work. “That’s right… that’s it.” 

He worked his fist from the base up to the start of the head, foreskin gliding easily over their most sensitive parts. Slowly Valerius picked up the pace until Lucio’s prattling and moaning had all but ceased; he gasped silently, mouth open wide. 

“Cum for me.” 

“You think you’ve earned it?” But he wasn’t convincing anyone he could hold off, what with the crack in his voice. 

Valerius could feel something coiling inside himself, and he’d be damned if he let Lucio get the pleasure of watching him finish first. “Cum for me, Lucio.” He held pace with his strokes, determined to hold on. 

Lucio spilled over his hand, arching his hips as best he could up into the pleasure. “Fuck,” he whispered. Valerius wasn’t listening. He had captured Lucio’s lips in a frantic kiss that drove him straight over the edge. His cock pulsed as he came -- hard -- over the other man’s stomach. His legs gave out as lethargy overtook him; he collapsed on top of the panting mess. 

Lucio was laughing. 

“I knew I made the right choice, picking your as my courtesan.” 

“Consul,” the council corrected. 

“I meant what I said.” 

Valerius laughed right back at him. This… this was the same, too. That same high he always used to get after a romp together glowed in his chest. He pressed a long kiss to his cheek before hoisting himself up to sit on Lucio’s hips. 

Blood-red eyes stared up at him. The warm feelings evaporated in a blink. “Your silk!” 

“Gift received, thank you. But now I want to look at the man who defiled me.” There it was -- that arrogant smirk. 

Lucio was a shell of a human being between his thighs, just days away from death. His horror must have reflected on his face, as the smirk dropped into a tight frown. Those terrific red eyes looked over to the door. 

“You can go now.” 

No, he couldn’t. He came here to bid Lucio a proper goodbye, and that’s just what he’d do. He pulled the soiled dress over his head and used it to clean the other’s stomach. “I’m tired.” 

He received no protests when he settled back down underneath the covers, nor when he took his equally-exhausted partner into his embrace. 

\--

Valerius awoke to Lucio violently shaking him by the shoulder. 

“By the bed --” Lucio panted. 

“What?” He asked, sleepy eyes peering over the edge of the bed. 

“I need to vomit.” 

“ _Oh._ ” Valerius eyed the cuspidor he must have been referring to and leapt into action, vaulting over the Count’s sickly body and holding it up. Lucio only had the energy to lean over the edge of the bed to dry heave into it -- once, twice, then finally the reward of relief. 

The future Count cast a distasteful eye on the sickly orange mixture of bile and blood. He handed Lucio the glass of wine from the nightstand, who proceeded to gulp its contents in one breath. 

Mortifying. He handed the glass back to Valerius wordlessly. A few silent moments tick, tick, ticked past them. Lucio was the one to break it. “I want you to go.” 

“Lucio.” 

Embarrassment had returned the plagued man his vigor. “Did you hear me? Go!” 

Valerius’ eyes contained equal parts sadness and resignation. “I’ll see you at the masquerade.” 

Lucio grumbled some sort of response and sank back down onto his pillows.

Valerius left. 

\---- 

_“Think of it as a mercy,” Asra had reasoned. “The plague would have taken him in time anyway. Trust me, Valerius. This way, I’ll have my master back, you’ll have your city, and your Count will expire without any more suffering. Isn’t that the right thing to do?”_

_And when he put it that way, the murder sounded downright virtuous._


End file.
